


Queen & Tinker

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Ballad 238: King James and the Tinker, Ballad AU, Dancing, Drinking, F/M, Fairy Revels, Flower Language, LOTS of foreshadowing for events in the Ballad AU, Not so bitter Torb, Pre-Omnic Crisis, Summer King!Gérard, Summer Queen!Torb's Wife, There's a Stag, Young Torb, child ballads - Freeform, flower symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9923618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: After the Faerie Lady Ursula is betrothed to Gérard, the new Summer King, she does not expect a ride in the mortal world to lead her to someone else entirely...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoirSongbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/gifts).



> This story was created out of some brainstorming with Noir about her Child Ballads AU, and she was nice enough to let me run with it! Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox!

The golden gates of the Summer Court had been flung wide, this day, and all of Faerie had turned out for this ceremony.

The lush gardens and beautiful pools of Summer had been wound with golden ribbon, and performers danced and plied their talents for the Lords and Ladies of Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring as they assembled for the betrothal of the King and his new Queen.

King Gérard had come to the throne a mere hundred years ago by mortal reckoning, but his rule had been marked by a great rise of strength in the Summer court… and a great deal of wariness in the others.

Still, all loved the woman who would be his Queen, the Lady Ursula, and she was known to be a noble in word and deed, who perhaps could tame the Golden King with her sweet disposition and great beauty.

The Lady looked radiant in green samite embroidered in gold, her sun–gold hair bound in fat plaits that cascaded down her back, the very picture of Summer’s beauty and grace as she entered the King’s Grove on a white steed, seated astride a saddle of dark oiled leather upon a blanket of woven vines and flower petals, following a path through the guests to an opened ring of daffodils where the Summer King awaited his bride.

His formal robes were wrapped in leaves of golden chain and larkspur, and a crown of windflower and sweet oleander blooms decorated his head, the very picture of regal power and grace.

As Ursula arrived, Gérard offered her his hand as he aided her descent, and then guided her into the center of the ring, while a new stand of daffodils rose to close them within the circle.

If her nose wrinkled for a moment at the scent of the sweet poisons which he had adorned himself with, none spoke a word.

If his eyes lit with something closer to covetousness than true appreciation, none acknowledged it.

The Chamberlain read out the Terms of Betrothal, as was tradition, and the Admonishments to the Bride, and all applauded as the King and his Queen placed their seals upon each.

Gifts were exchanged – a bow of Elm and Hemp for the lady Ursula, to aid in her hunting.

A blade of bronze and silver for the king, the edge chased with dawn’s gleaming rays.

A crown of woven orchids, peach blooms, and plum blossoms for the Queen to Be that Gérard set upon her head.

A ring of ivy, myrtus leaf, and gold for the King, that Ursula slipped upon his finger.

The guests applauded, and the newly betrothed opened the circle with a wave of their hands, then moved through the crowd as they parted before them, off to exchange their final and most important gifts:

The Gift of their True Names.

* * *

 

Ursula allowed Gérard to lead her, arm in arm, into the depths of the King’s Grove – the very heart of Summer.

“It is beautiful,” she assured him, “and an honor to see this place at last.”

Gérard bowed to her, sweeping an arm to encompass the grove. “The honor is mine, my Summer Queen. And once we are wed, this shall be _your_ grove as well. All of Summer’s blossoms, leaves, and rays – and more besides.”

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “What more, my King, could there be?”

“Ahh, my Queen, when you see what I have planned…” Taking her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I shall not rest until I can give you the world!”

Ursula gently returned the gesture with a kiss to her betrothed’s hand. “The world is unnecessary, my King and Husband to be. Your love and your care will be all I require.”

Gérard’s smile held a razor’s edge. “Such a romantic, my lovely Queen…” Walking to a burled oak at the center of the grove, he stroked the gnarled and twisted bark. “I fear that love...love is a difficult gift for me to promise anyone. I am well loved, Ursula, but I know I am not _beloved_.”

He paused to look back at her, and though there was admiration in his eyes, there was also a touch of something shockingly cold for one who wore the mantle of Summer. “Perhaps, in time, that shall change. I have no doubt that with you by my side, all the courts of Faerie will smile upon us.”

Ursula did her best to warm her smile. Perhaps in time it might thaw even the cold in her King’s heart.

Perhaps.

But for now…

“Are you ready for your final gift, my King?”

Gérard stepped forward. “As I ready as I am to offer you my own, my Queen.”

His lips were a whisper of ringing bells, the light through a forest canopy, the scent of a bonfire, and the buzz of firefly wings.

Her words were the fall of summer rain, the warmth of feet on white sands, a breath of lilac, and the first rays of a hazy dawn.

When it was done, each held the knowledge of the other, and the Betrothal was complete.

As she left the grove, Ursula felt...conflicted. She recognized the importance of what has been arranged – what she has been _honored_ with, to be elevated so – but something in Gerard has always unsettled her. Something in his eyes, perhaps. They had never been warm and green as summer’s grass, but cold and polished, like chips of jade. _Eyes of stone,_ she had often thought, _to match his heart._

At moments like this, the whispers and games of the Courts were of no solace to her. What she needed was to ride, to feel wind in her hair and the thunder of hooves in her ears.

 _Yes_ , she decided, and her travels brought her to the stables. Her best horse awaited her along with her new bow and best quiver as her court finery shimmered and melted away, replaced with a simple dress, a sturdy cloak, and tall boots.

A ride, she knew, would do her a world of good.

Perhaps she might find a worthy trophy to bring home from the mortal realm in the bargain.

* * *

The new Summer Queen rode for hours, or perhaps days. When she ventured into the mortal realm in her true seeming, time was as liquid a concept for her as for those rare mortals who wander into faerie and manage to somehow leave once again.

She had made her way into a forest, rich and green with waterfalls and rivers when she finally spied a trophy that any hunter would find worthy.

A beautiful stag, with gleaming black eyes like deep pools. The antlers upon its brow spread like a victor’s laurel, the tawny fur sleek and shining.

Ursula watched it wandering among the deadfall, not so far from a glade where she knows her sisters and ladies often gather, and when she came into view, it bounded into the forest and lead her on a merry chase.

She exulted in the thrill of the hunt, the wildness in her blood singing as she urged a bit more speed from her mount so the stag would not outpace them.

At last there was an opportunity for a clean shot thanks to a break in the treeline. The arrow was in her hand and knocked on her bowstring without conscious thought, aiming and letting it fly an act as effortless as breathing, but when the arrow buried itself in the beast’s flank, something was suddenly and truly wrong.  The stag stiffened, then fell to the ground in a strange heap – not the still graceful collapse she would have expected from where her arrow took the glorious creature, but an odd tangle and unnatural spasm of limbs.

Ursula dismounted and walked carefully to the fallen stag. Her arrow had taken the animal just where she’d expected, piercing the heart...yet there was no blood. As she knelt to examine it, it became increasingly clear that whatever she had slain, it was no deer.

As she examined the wound her arrowhead had made, beneath the split fur was not meat and bone, but metal and wire. No blood, but a smell of ozone and a faint odor of something like sweet oil.

What strange manner of creature could it be?  
  
Ursula was seized with a burning desire – she had to learn more.  
  
Taking a seeming of a mortal woman is child’s play. Her appearance is not so different, but her hunting garb is now something more contemporary, her ears more rounded, her skin clear but no longer gleaming with summer’s glow. As she settles into this new guise, Ursula knows the name that mortals use for the land she has found herself in, and the languages they spoke.

Tracing the stag’s path through the Stora Sjöfallets took time, but she eventually found herself in a tiny town called at the edge of the sprawling forest, and an even smaller tavern and restaurant attached to the town’s only inn.

When she entered, to Ursula’s surprise there was a blonde, bushy haired man with a thick beard sitting at a table in the tavern with the very same stag she had “slain” atop his table. Short and stocky, he had a strange glass over one eye, swearing up a streak and drinking from a steel tankard as he examined the twisted and tangled carcass of the beast – her arrow sitting at his side!  
  
Her interest piqued, she approached his table with a winning smile. Mortal or fae, he was a man, and Ursula has known how to charm men of old. “Excuse me, sir?”  
  
Just as she spoke, sparks flew from a tool in the bearded man’s hand, making him growl and swear as he yanked it back from the stag’s side. “ _För fan i helvete..._ oh. Oops.” Realizing he'd been addressed and ignoring the woman standing in front of his table he took the glass from his eye and smiled up at her sheepishly. “Pardon me! How can I help ya, miss…?”  
  
She couldn't help but laugh at his misfortune and his reaction. “I’m Ursula. I was wondering what you were doing to that poor deer!”

The shorter man was looking up to her – well, that was nothing new, truly – but his eyes weren’t filled with calculation or fear. Rather, he seemed to have an appreciation for her, but also a twinkle of...amusement? Of satisfaction? How very odd.

“Ahhh. Well, first off he’s _not_ a deer! Looks it, though, doesn’t he? I’m very proud of that. Synthetic textured furs, the horns are actually sensor gear, he cools himself through lifelike respiration – even has a musk!  You could be standing right next to him and not know – and that’s why some damn poacher put an arrow in him I suppose.”

Ursula cocked her head thoughtfully. What was the word for such things again…? “So it’s an automaton then. Mister…?”

Ursula smiled as the stocky man’s cheeks heated. _That_ was a reaction she was more used to receiving, mortal or no.  “Ah, sorry! I get so tied up in the work sometimes – my name’s Torbjӧrn, Torbjӧrn Lindholm. Friends call me Torby.”

What ‘work’ involved making metal move like living flesh? Her curiosity growing with every answer, Ursula gestured to the tankard sitting next to her arrow atop the table. “And what are you drinking, Torby?”

Torbjӧrn reached up to rub the back of his neck, and she couldn’t help but notice the muscle that moved and shifted as he did – he might be a _compact_ man, but he seemed to certainly be a quite powerful one as well. “Just a bit of the house brown ale.” He looked down to the stag with a sigh. “Not the best I’ve had, if I’m honest, but it’s cheap – and since I’ve put most of my money into fixing up this _jävla skit... “_ Torbjӧrn coughed. “Well. You have the look of a woman who might enjoy something a bit better than anything they’ve got on the taps here.”

“Perhaps,” Ursula admitted as she picked up the nearly empty tankard, “but I’m sure it will be just fine with a bit of company.”

“So if this is a machine,” Ursula wondered, sipping from her tankard as Torbjӧrn produced smaller and smaller tools that he used to mend the hurts she’d caused, “why make it look so real?”

“Well…” He sat back, giving her a speculative look as a hand came up to stroke his beard. “I suppose I have to ask _you_ a question before I can answer that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ursula motioned for him to go on with a slight wave of her hand.

Torbjörn leaned forward with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. “Do you happen to believe in fairies, Ursula?”

It took every ounce of courtly manners she possessed to keep the Summer Queen from laughing out loud. After all, she would never wish to give offense. “If I did,” she asked with a sly smile, “just what would you say, Torby?”

Chuckling softly, Torbjӧrn took a pull of his beer. “I’m _supposed_ to tell you that fairies are just for kids. Silly stories and old wives tales. But...I always thought it was funny that these stories get told again and again, all over the world, always with the same details. And the forests here...well. There are stories they whisper in his town, going back a long, long time, about the fairies coming from the woods and hunting this time of year, or dancing among the falls as they freeze in the winters. So I think perhaps there’s some truth to all those stories after all.”

“I'm not sure I understand how the one ties into the other,”  Ursula admitted, “but I don't think you're wrong at all.”

“Well,” Torbjörn sat back, “you have to understand that I'm a tinkerer. Always have been, always will be. I've always loved to build things. There's a group that calls themselves the Iron Guild. Some of the best in the world at robotics, design, construction. But you can't just show up and expect to be invited – you have to _prove_ you're on their level.”

Ursula reached out to stroke the stag’s flank. “With such remarkable work, I can't imagine you being anything less.”

The tinker smiled bashfully as he tapped a finger against his nose. “I appreciate you sayin’ so. Still – I thought I might stack the deck a bit. What better way to prove that fairies exist and to prove how perfect a replica this beastie is at the same time?”

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “How will it prove they exist?”

“Cameras in the eyes,” he explained, tapping each part as he spoke, “thermal and millimeter wave radar in the antlers, olfactory sensors in the nose, of course, and recording modules in the stomach. But the blasted arrow snapped right through the data connections and broke the fiber of the ‘spine’ in the bargain. I may add some redundancies, we’ll see. Never expected someone to _shoot_ the damn thing – it was supposed to run if it detected any kind of a threat..."

Ursula understood little, but his enthusiasm was infectious enough. She couldn't help but be interested in his plans – harmless enough, truly. He sought no favors or trophies from the fae, merely wished to prove his point. Still, she couldn’t help but tease the tinker. “But have you ever _seen_ a fairy, Torby?”

The tinker shook his head with a warm laugh, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head. “Oh, hah, no! But if this works...well. Who can say?”

_Who indeed?_

Ursula leaned back in with a mischievous smile. “I know these woods very, very well, you know.”

Torbjörn’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Do you?”

“Oh, yes.” Ursula’s eyes were gleaming as her voice dropped to low purr. “I might even know a place that they say the fae gather to dance, every summer’s moon. In honor of their Summer Queen, they say.”

He leaned back, stroking at his beard in thought. “ _That_ would be a thing, but it sounds like you’re making a chicken out of a feather to me.”

Ursula winked. “Perhaps – but what if we made it a trade? Show me how this beast of yours moves, once it’s fixed, and I’ll give you like for like – I’ll show you the fairies’ dancing glade, and perhaps that stag of yours could even see the Queen before it returns to you. Surely that would be enough to impress anyone.”

The tinker beamed at her. “Well, when you put it that way….but how would I know which one is the Queen?”

Ursula leaned back, gesturing to her forehead. “They say all the fairy maids go bareheaded, while the queen will wear a veil and crown.”

Torbjörn considered that with a grunt as he finished off the last of his beer. “Why, do you suppose?”

Ursula shrugged. “Some stories say her beauty is so great that if they looked upon her face, they’d forget to dance.” Mostly stories she had just made up, but by the time her dance was done, the Queen was quite certain there would be people speaking of this in the mortal realms for many, many years.

Torbjӧrn’s beard crinkled up in a little smile. “You’d best cover up as well, then – because I can’t imagine a fairy who could match the beauty I see in front of me.”

Ursula’s laughter was like a peal of bells, and she found herself leaning over to kiss his broad forehead. “Keep that up, Mister Tinker, and I may just decide to keep you.”

Blushing, the tinker looked up to her with undisguised admiration. “I’ve heard worse plans…”

She’d finished her drink and had another while the little man finished mending the stag, his fingers surprisingly deft and sure as he mended the metal and flesh alike. Grunting as he stood up, he lifted the stag from the table and set his creation back on its hooves, pulling a device from his pocket before tapping it against the stag’s flank. “All right, you beastie. Up you get!”

To Ursula’s delight, the stag twitched, then shook its head as if to clear it. The dark eyes slowly blinked once, twice, three times, and then it gracefully wandered towards the door, pushing it open with its horns before wandering out of the tavern, presumably on the way back to the forest.

“ _Amazing_ ,” she breathed, “if I hadn’t seen you work, I’d never have believed. To make metal move in such a way…”

“Y’think so?” Torbjӧrn smiled shyly back to her, and it seemed to have little to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.

Ursula surprised herself with how genuinely she returned his smile. “How could I not? You have a remarkable gift, Torby. Just as magical as any faerie charm, I think.”

“Hah. I could only wish others thought the same!” His eyes filled with warmth and excitement – looking into them gave Ursula the sense of a summer night just before a thunderstorm. “I’ve got so many ideas, y’know. A little here, a little there...we could make a whole new world with a little here and a little there, I know we could! Build cities in a day. Build skyscrapers in an hour!” He sighed, shaking his head ruefully.  “But I ought to start with what’s in front of me, I suppose.” He looked out the window, to where the stag was crossing the road and passing into the tree line. “So...where can we find this fairy glade of yours, beautiful?”

Ursula smiled as she stood. “Be here the night of the next summer moon, and I’ll show you.”

The tinker’s face fell. “Can I at least get a _hint?"_

Ursula stood up to her full height, her voice turning grave. “Have a care, Torby. Hints and riddles involving the fae often come at a great cost.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Torbjӧrn sighed, looking back towards the forest for a moment before straightening up to slyly catch her eye. “How about your phone number, then…?”

Ursula leaned in and kissed his ruddy cheek, the fine blonde hairs of his beard tickling pleasantly against her skin. “Perhaps I’ll have one by the time we meet again.”

“I guess I’ll take that,” the tinker murmured warmly, “as long you promise we’ll have that next time.”

Ursula nodded solemnly. “You’ve my word, Torbjӧrn Lindholm. On the next summer moon, I will be waiting for you here.”

As she left the tavern, Ursula let herself disappear into the forest, making her way back to the Summer Court. She hadn’t taken the stag, she supposed, but as she thought of the dreams she'd seen in the tinker’s eyes, she thought that perhaps she’d taken quite a prize home with her after all...

* * *

To Ursula’s surprise, a summons from her betrothed awaited her when she returned to Faerie. An invitation to dine and refresh herself once she returned from her hunting.

Gérard’s pavilion of vines and shrubbery was set with wines, fruits, cheeses, and nuts. A welcome meal after her journey, and she smiled gratefully at him as she settled into a low chair.

“How fared your hunt, my Queen?”

Ursula shrugged slightly. “Well enough, my King, but I fear I did not find quite the trophy I had hoped while in the mortal realm.”

“A pity,” Gérard sympathized as he sipped at a goblet of dandelion wine, “but perhaps once you have refreshed yourself, I can show you something which will soften the blow.”

Ursula daintily consumed a wedge of cheese and slices of apples and pears before she replied. “I would be delighted to see anything you care to show me, my husband to be.”

Once they had eaten, Ursula had expected the King to lead her back into his grove at the heart of the realm, but instead he lead her on a long and winding path that brought them to a cave that passed deep into the earth.

The deeper they wound their way beneath the surface, there came a sound of bells that grew louder until Gérard gestured for her to proceed him to a wide ledge that overlooked the lowest chamber of the cavern.

“I told you that I would give you the world, my Queen...and here is the foundation that shall make my promise into truth.”

Ursula’s eyes widened in shock as she looked out upon the cavern’s floor, covered in forges, anvils, and smithys. What she had taken for the sound of bells was the fall of hammers, tens of hundreds, all falling and rising like the breath of some horrible beast, the belch of forges and hissing quench of steel adding their own accompaniment.

Trying to keep herself calm, she turned to where Gérard looked upon his works with a lust that surpassed anything he had ever shown her before.  “What foundation have you built here, my King?”

“An army, of course.” The Summer King stepped up to her side, his arms sweeping wide to encompass it all. “The greatest armorers and smiths in all of Faerie now serve us, my Queen. With their works, we shall raise an army beyond anything ever imagined – and I shall use it to raise the banner of Summer over the mortal realm for all eternity. You shall rule not just as Summer’s queen, but as the Queen of All Seasons and All Men, triumphant at my side.”

Ursula’s heart felt as if it would tear screaming from her chest, but her training in courtly affairs served her well. Smiling, she turned back to look at this terror, her voice light and airy. “Ambitious and extravagant, my King. You spoil me beyond measure.”

“My ambition has always known few bounds,” Gérard admitted, “and it has taken me farther than most would dare to dream. But I have always known there to be something more – and with this army behind us, my Queen, we shall seize it.”

After being shown the secret armory and the workshops that toiled to create the seemingly endless army that Gérard desired, Ursula allowed him to lead her back to the Summer Court, and after polite words of parting, she fled to her chambers as swiftly as she could without rousing suspicion.

Ursula thought of the dreams that the tinker had shared with her over their drinks. There would be no hope of his better world under the rule of the Summer King. A world locked into endless summer would never change...but it would also never grow. Merely stagnate like water in a fen, becoming fouler by each passing day as Gerard’s will boiled all that had been good away.

 _A world enslaved as my wedding gift? Nothing could be less worthy. For a King who claimed he wished to be loved...no. Love was nurtured, raised. Earned. Often tested, oh so rarely proven, but love was_ never _a thing to be seized at the point of a blade._

She would not stand for such a bride–gift. Such misery would not be her dowry.

_Why take a King who would give you such a broken prize for a Husband when you could have a tinker who would bring joy as he crafted you a gift in truth and beauty?_

Ursula gathered up her crown and her veil. The summer’s moon would come all too soon.

* * *

When Ursula returned to the mortal realm _,_ she had worked to carefully craft her appearance. Sturdy boots and denim trousers. A rough spun shirt and a thick flannel coat. A set of kerchiefs to tame her hair rather than the veil she would wear when she reclaimed her rightful mien. Rather than her bow or a blade, she carried a polished walking stick instead – the very picture of a woman who spent her life among the woods.

By the position of the sun, she had another hour before dusk. More than enough time to fulfill her word and bargain with the tinker.

Just as she’d asked, the tinker and his stag were waiting for her, along with an equally stout looking vehicle, with sturdy looking wheels covered in rough knobs.

 _What foolishness,_ Ursula thought as she crossed the boundary that separated forest from town, _for a Queen of the Fae to find herself smitten with such a mortal man. Yet in his eyes I saw more life and laughter than anything my King might offer in a thousand mortal lifetimes._

“Well!” Torbjӧrn’s smile crinkled his beard up, lines appearing across his broad forehead. “I didn’t doubt you, lovely lady, but I _was_ a little worried you might not make it before sunset. Did you walk all the way here?”

“I’m used to walking – or riding,” Ursula explained, “but this wagon of yours will get us there in plenty of time, I’m sure.”

“ _Wagon?”_ The tinker put on a show of greatly offended dignity, but it was clear he took great pride in this creation as well. “I’ll have you know this is not only one of the fastest all terrain platforms you’ll ever see, but one of the most fuel efficient, too! You could run this thing off _akvavit_ in a pinch and still get 300 kilometers to a tank!”

“I suppose that is fairly impressive,” Ursula agreed, since the mortal obviously acted like she should be impressed, “but I only see one seat _,_ Torby. _”_

Torbjörn’s eyes sparked with amusement as he settled onto what Ursula supposed was the machine’s saddle. _“_ You did say you’re used to riding, Just climb on behind me and hold on to my waist – you can brace your feet against the back, and tell me where to go.”

“Indeed,” the Summer Queen chuckled as she put her arms around him, taking a deep breath of his scent as her body settled against his broad back, “and I am sure it is a coincidence this magnificent ‘platform’ requires us to ride this way.”

The stout man laughed, and she could feel his booming mirth through her own chest, her nose filled with the scents of sweet oils, smoke, and a hint of something like hot metal beneath it all. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re implying.”

Ursula leaned around and placed a kiss on the tinker’s cheek. “Of course. Can the stag follow us?”

“Better than that, actually!” Turning towards where the mechanical beast waited, Torbjörn whistled sharply, and the stag’s head perked up just as if it had heard a call in the woods. “Come on, get in the back!”

Ursula turned as much as she could against the mortal’s back so she could watch the stag calmly walk around the vehicle, then carefully climb into the small cargo area at the back, folding itself neatly down as if resting peacefully on the forest floor.

“Remarkable,” she breathed, “it understands you? That and all you showed me already? Can it speak back?”

The tinker shook his head. “Not yet – not enough processing power and room inside of the thing to make it truly intelligent or capable of interacting with you spontaneously like that.” He kicked down with one broad foot and the engine kicked over, bringing the “platform” to life. “Still,” Torbjörn admitted thoughtfully, “give me a few more years – especially if I do make it into the Guild. Who knows what I could do with a few more resources and a little more help?”

Ursula smiled. “Something remarkable, I am sure.” Raising her hand towards the treeline, she pointed towards the heart of the forest. “That way,” she said with just as much confidence as her earlier prediction, “and I’ll guide you to a place you can hide once we get closer.”

The tinker twisted one of the hand controls forward (a throttle, Ursula later learned), and if perhaps she clung a little tighter to his waist than strictly necessary as they plunged into the forest, he certainly did not seem to mind.

Once she had guided them into a gully perhaps a quarter of a league from the glade where her handmaidens would await her pleasure, Ursula tapped on her driver’s shoulder. “Here – this will be a good hiding place for you.”

Pulling the vehicle (sometimes he called it a ‘platform’, others a ‘bike’, but whatever its true name, Ursula had to admit it was thrilling to ride upon it with him) behind a copse of trees, Torbjörn allowed her to dismount first, then swung himself off the saddle and lifted the stag from where it had rested, the false beast shaking its head and then stretching out each leg before padding slowly around them both, the nose making a soft snuffling sound as it sampled the air around them.

“The glade is up the rise,” Ursula pointed, “and perhaps ten minutes walking. If you can have the stag approach the glade, then wait for the fairies to begin dancing, it should be able to approach – and if the Queen is kind, she may even favor the beast with a dance.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the tinker agreed, then looked up at her with a bit of confusion, “but aren’t you planning to stay? To see?”

“I’ll be near,” Ursula promised, “but since you want to make sure the stag will be safe from poachers, I’ll go and make sure none are nearby. I know where hunters often like to set up their camps and stands. Once night falls, I’ll try to return to you after the dance has ended.” A masterful job of telling the truth, the Queen thought, if not the _entire_ truth.

The tinker considered that a moment, then grunted, a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Makes sense, I suppose, and I appreciate you going to all this trouble. But I’d looked forward to a chance to talk to you a bit more while we waited.”

Ursula smiled, and leaned down to kiss the tinker’s forehead. “When I come back, I promise, we may talk for as long as you wish, Torby.”

His bushy eyebrows rose even as a blush warmed his face. “Still thinking of keeping me, then?”

Ursula knew her own cheeks now held a hint of roses as she made her way up the hill _._ _“_ Perhaps, my dreaming tinker. Perhaps…”

Once Ursula had entered the glade that had been prepared for their dancing, Ursula let her mortal disguise fall away, hiding her face beneath her veil. She brought forth the crown that Gérard had bestowed upon her, and placed it upon her head, then sang in a high, clear voice to the wood.

_To you, my noble kin I call._

_To you, my ladies, sisters all._

_To your Queen I bid you come._

_To dance by music’s pluck and thrum._

 

_Come into the summer night._

_Come revel by the fair moon’s light_

_To this blessed glade I call:_

_Come to dance, my beauties all!_

To mortal eyes, it must have seemed very strange, she supposed. The realms could blend, in this place, where the divides between the worlds grew thin, and so her call brought a touch of Faerie to this place, filling the trees that surrounded the glade with silver gossamer and soft light as the women of the Summer Court answered their Queen’s summons.

Music swelled at her command, full of strings and bells, and the ladies of the court began to leap and twirl through the glade, flowing with the music and bounding across the grass, while the Queen shaped herself a throne of roses and foxglove to observe the festivities.

As the dances continued on, there came a rustling from the woods that surrounded the glade, and the stag slowly entered the clearing, dark eyes shining, its ears twitching slightly at the sounds of music and feather light footsteps.

“My ladies,” the Summer Queen called from beneath her veil, and the dancers turned to face her as she rose from her throne, extending her hand in welcome to the noble beast, “we have a visitor. Please, my sisters, make him welcome, and dance with our honoured guest.”

Laughing with delight, the dancing ladies flickered and floated through the glade, dancing reels and circles around and above the stag. A few of the most daring even twirled against and around it as a true dancing partner, the beast nuzzling and licking at their hands and cheeks to their great amusement.

The revels spun on until the moon had begun to pass from the sky once again, and the Queen knew it was time for all this to be brought to an end.

Raising a hand, the Summer Queen stood, and once again the dancing fairies waited on her words as the music drew to a close. The glade was suddenly silent and still, the only movement coming from the stag, who padded slowly up to the base of her throne as if to attend on the Queen’s pleasure.

“The night fades, my beautiful ladies, and our dancing songs have ended. The moon shall pass beyond, and so must we.” Smiling, she reached down to gently stroke the stag’s neck and flank, her fingers lingering against the spot where her arrow had pierced its side, now seemingly nothing but velvet fur and supple flesh.

“I shall guide our guest back to his home. Return to our Court and Kith, my noble sisters, and your Queen will follow in her own time.”

In flashes of silver and shimmering light, the dancers wafting beyond the mortal ken like the fading of summer mist, until Ursula was alone with the stag, the bunting and banners gone, the Queen’s throne returned whence it came.

Lightly stroking the stag’s horns, she gave it a good scratching behind the ears, and to her delight the stag made a pleased sort of sigh.

“It is time we return to your master, my friend. Let us show him what beauties you have found.”

She placed her fingers against the base of the mechanical beast’s neck, and they went onwards into the wood.

* * *

When the stag and the Queen reached the gully where the tinker waited, Ursula drew herself to her full height, regal and imposing in the rich garb of her station, her crown and veil still obscuring her face as Torbjӧrn came out of where he’d hidden himself away, the stag presenting itself to him proudly, turning to gesture at the Queen with its head as if to ask if its creator was proud of the prize it had brought to him.

Ursula took a few steps forward, spreading her arms and letting herself light the gully with the glow of Summer’s light. “Your remarkable beast has witnessed Our fete, and danced with the Queen herself.  So now I ask you to tell me, little tinker – do _you_ believe in fairies?”

“All my life,” Torbjӧrn whispered reverently as he fell to his knees in awe, “but never thought I’d speak to one.”

“How strange,” the Queen replied with dry amusement, “for you have put such effort into proving We exist, yet never dared to hope.”

The tinker ducked his head meekly, his eyes wet with tears. “I never wanted to get too far ahead of myself, I suppose.”

“Indeed... “ The Queen’s eyes danced behind her veil, flashes of amusement there like the glow of fireflies on a warm night. “Yet We understand you dared to suggest a mortal woman’s beauty  might rival Our own.”

“I did,” the tinker admitted as he looked back to her with eyes full of dreams once again, his voice aflame, “beautiful, but more than that – _smart!_ To listen to me rattling on and seeing what I had in mind. Brave, too, to lead me out here. She keeps saying she might even keep a tinker and fool like me...”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he spoke, and the tinker froze, rooted to the spot, as she lifted off her crown, then put her hand to the veil that hid her countenance. “Then I shall ask you – do I match the beauty you saw in her, little tinker?”

Torbjӧrn’s breath caught with a soft _'haa!’_ as Ursula lifted her veil and smiled sweetly to him, but to her dismay the tinker looked away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he refused to meet the Queen’s gaze. “You... _Ursula_ ...the whole _time?!_ ”

Kneeling down, she stroked his bearded chin, and lifted it gently until his eyes met her own so he could see the affection and delight she held for him there, her voice soft and kind. “Am I still as beautiful as you said, Torby? As brave and as smart?”

“Of course you are,” the tinker confirmed with a shy smile, “but I’ve no idea what you’d even want to do with an eel headed fool like me.”

“I still have no telephone number to give you, my little tinker with great dreams,” Ursula confessed with a smile of her own, “but perhaps I might come home with you, instead.”

Perhaps the woman who had been the Summer Queen knelt down as she cast away her crown.

Perhaps the tinker rose up just that little bit taller on his feet as the stag left to climb back aboard the vehicle that had brought them here.

Their lips met, and they needed nothing else.

* * *

“She has taken up with a mortal man, My King. A tinker of metal and wire. A little man of little account.”

Gérard pursed his lips in thought, then shook his head with dismissal. “A dalliance, then. When we bring the Endless Summer to the mortal realms, she will come to her senses, I am sure.”

The courtier who had brought him news of his Queen’s disappearance knelt down. “I have no doubt, my King.”

“Very well,” the Summer King waved his dismissal, “begone. Let the armorers know I wish their efforts doubled once again.”

“As you wish, my King.”

Alone at the heart of his grove, Gérard removed the ring his wayward bride had given him – clearly _fidelity_ had little worth to her. Willing it away until such time as he had a worthy bride, he considered his options.

Perhaps the simplest might also be the best. If Ursula had seen fit to forsake him for a mortal, then he would take a mortal of his own, to sit upon her throne and look down upon the noblewoman, shaming the faerie for her betrayal.

It had a delicious irony to it, and a mortal wife would be easy enough to tame, once he held her heart in his hand.

All that remained was to find the perfect replacement – and she would be _perfect_ , he would make certain of that – but he had nothing but time...


End file.
